


There is a fire inside of this heart/And a riot about to explode into flames.

by IlLupo, xthebanyx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:16:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1446415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IlLupo/pseuds/IlLupo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xthebanyx/pseuds/xthebanyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam are separated during a fight.  Sam panics when he can't find Dean and prays to Castiel for help.  Dean finds himself lost in the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No matter how many breaths that you took/you still couldn't breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a roleplay between my friend Jill and I. We passed this battered notebook back and forth for weeks at work. I hacked into the computer in the office and figured out how to print out SPNTL pictures on the work computer and taped them all over the cover and within the pages. Song lyrics and poems were scribbled into the margins. 
> 
> I am not ashamed.
> 
> Feedback welcome.

It had been fourteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds since they'd encountered the monster. Nine minutes of that, Sam has spent running – a full throttle sprint through trees spaced wide enough he can squeeze by with just a few scratches. It's the rolling hills he has to be wary of; he's more likely to end up with a sprained ankle or – God forbid – a broken arm or wrist. He'll live with a few cuts on his arms – anything to just get away. He doesn't know when it all went to hell. Maybe the moment his gun was ripped from his hands like candy from a baby. Or maybe when he was thrown like a rag doll twenty feet away from Dean and his head nearly split like a watermelon on impact with the ground. Or maybe it was when an overwhelming feeling of dread filled him wholly to the point of nausea. Maybe it was everything combined. Either way, it's been five minutes since he's stopped running in the opposite direction. He's long been able to catch his breath, but his heart is still pounding in his ears and it's almost deafening because the forest is quiet and that can mean so many damn things.

It's been twenty minutes and fifty-five seconds since he's seen or heard his brother. He's back-tracked to where he first bolted like an idiot (“Christ, Sam, it's not like it's clowns or anything.” The voice in his head sounds eerily similar to how Dean would have said it). He's not sure he wants to call him yet, but it's dark and has started to snow. He swallows his fear and forces himself to start searching the frozen ground for his gun. He finds it – well, half of it. The muzzle has been snapped clean in two. Salvageable, maybe. Something to think about as his watch stares pointedly at him and keeps on ticking away the minutes.

The monster hasn't caught up to him again, which is a good sign in the short-term. Could mean anything at this point, though. He pulls his coat close, huddling in on himself as the snow flakes grow thick and fall heavily on his face.

He breaks.

“Dean?”

He calls out, hoarse, loud, a little desperate.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_Dean keeps his eyes closed, even as consciousness settles into his bones like a cold winter. Survival 101: play dead until you're certain you're not. He goes through the mental checklist: toes, check; legs, check; arms, check. He carefully flexes and releases, assessing the damage. Everything seems to be in working order, minus the pounding in his head and the fact he has no idea where the hell he is. Dean keeps his eyes screwed shut, sharply listening to his surroundings – which is made slightly difficult by his heart beating loudly in his ears and his breathing heavy in the air._

_After several long minutes and several mental body scans, Dean finally decides he is in no immediate danger (yet). He slowly opens his eyes, blinking several times to clear the darkness. And several more times. As the darkness remains, Dean's fear rises. He screws his eyes shut, rubbing them furiously and opening them as widely as he can. He is still greeted with the terrifying void before him. Bile fills the back of his throat and a silent scream burns in his lungs._

_“Calm the fuck down, Dean.” he whispers to himself. “You need to think clearly here.” Dean carefully reaches out to feel the space he is in. Packed dirt floor, sharp rock debris. HE reaches up above him – nothing. Easing himself into a seated position, Dean sits quietly, taking deep breaths to slow the beating in his chest. He knows that he is (mostly) physically able, mentally able. He is in a protected (safe?) environment. He doesn't seem to be in any immediate danger (he is still alive, after all)._

_“Sammy?”_

_He is alone._

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Sam's voice falls flat, distant to his own ears. He's not thinking clearly he tells himself over and over, as he frantically searches for any signs of his brother. Dean will call him, Sam figures, berating himself quietly for continuing to panic. He pats the pockets of his jeans out of instinct, although he recalls tossing the phone on the passenger seat of their car. Sam lets out a breath between his teeth. Dean is either waiting for him there or working his way in that direction. If he didn't have a splitting headache, Sam would have laughed at himself. In any case, Dean is likely to rip into him for forgetting his phone or dawdling around and not heading straight for the car after the coast was clear. Sam's not willing to admit that they may have been in over their heads with this one. Regardless, he's going to accomplish a lot more going back to the car then searching the woods until he runs into Dean...or trouble.

Thankfully it's only a short distance to where they parked beneath a bowed tree. Dean isn't leaning against the hood of the car a Sam had hoped, but it's a small favor that locking the doors would have been an unnecessary precaution. He finds his phone between the seats and has a hard time swallowing his distress when there are no missed calls or spiteful voicemails waiting for him. “It's fine,” he thinks – Dean is probably waiting for him to call.

His rapid breaths freeze in the air in front of him as he dials his brother's number and waits, trying his damnedest not to count the seconds before Dean's voicemail picks up.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

_Dean manages to get himself in to a sort of huddled standing position, which included only one loud “FUCK” when he stood straight up to discover the ceiling of his enclosure was not as high as he had anticipated. He slowly shuffled forward, keeping one hand on the rough rock wall and carefully sliding his feet out in front of him before taking each step. The last thing he needed right now was to go steeping off some cliff and breaking his neck._

_Dean was making slow progress. He had no sense of time or space. He couldn't tell if he was moving deeper into the tunnel or moving towards freedom. Every so often Dean would stop, touch his face and body, just to make sure he was still real, that this wasn't some horrible nightmare. Once he had fumbled around in his pockets and had found his lighter – his heart skipped a beat and for a moment he was filled with a flutter of hope. Maybe his blindness was just the result of his environment. Maybe this wasn't turning out to be so shitty. But that flutter quickly evaporated when he held the flame so close to his lightless eyes that he felt the warmth against his skin, but still saw nothing. It took him longer that time to keep moving forward._

_All he could think about was Sam and it continued to propel him further into the darkness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scribbled in the margins of this were song lyrics, poems, etc. that were our muses as the story progressed. I will include what was in the pages of each chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> _i'm waking up/to ash and dust/i wipe my brow/and i sweat my rust_
> 
> (Song Credit: Radioactive by Imagine Dragons)


	2. The prayers that we have prayed/were like a drug

Sam flips his phone shut. Opens it. Shuts it again. He can't breath. He covers his mouth with the palm of his hand and wills himself to inhale. Exhale. Stop. Think. He leans against the Impala and loses himself somewhere between the time it takes for his knees to buckle beneath him and the chill in his lungs gripping tight enough to leave him gasping. 

What does he do? What can he do?

Sam runs. He backtracks into the woods, screaming Dean's name, running for what feels like an eternity. Is he dead? Dragged off somewhere? Burnt away? There's not a trace – no path to follow, no signs that his brother is still here. He's just...gone. 

“Stop panicking, Sam Winchester.”

So he does. He swallows his fear and stops. What would Dean do in this situation? Running blind isn't going to get him anywhere. Dean would know this. The forest is only so big, he remembers that. Dean has the local map and Sam doesn't have the time nor the means to acquire another. So what would his brother do?

Sam pauses; an idea, small at first, inspired by his brief mania in thinking that something – someone – took Dean kicking and screaming. He feels a shiver travel up his spine and down his arms, raising goosebumps. Sam glances up; he can't see the stars and wonders if he should take that as an omen or not. The angels can't find them, that he knows. So maybe he'll give them a little help.

What would Dean do indeed.

Sam Winchester is not a foreigner to the concept of prayer. He prayed often as a child, back before he was “enlightened” to all the terrible things that go bump in the night. He'd faltered and looked less often for divine intervention but on occasion, he'd say a prayer for his dad or ask God that Dean would get Doritos instead of Funions for once. He prayed to Jess a lot. A lot less now and he's not sure if it constitutes as prayer anyways. But now, as he stands in the quiet snow and the dark and the cold, Sam bows his head.

“Castiel? It's, uh, me. It's Sam Winchester.”

He waits, the silence deafening. Nothing. He doesn't know how fast the message gets across anyways – for all he knows, there's a delay time or interference. He keeps going anyways, “I need help, Cas.” He peeks an eye open. Maybe there needs to be a ritual or some kind of prayer etiquette. Or maybe Castiel just needs some incentive.

“It's about Dean. Please.”

He wonders idly if Castiel watched as Dean was electrocuted years ago, when they went to that healer and Sam had never tried to believe in something so much as he believed that Dean was going to get better through faith and grace.

He gets a confirmation in the sound of wings.

Sam whirls around and Castiel stands before him, staring at some distant point West, a silent question posed in the way that his brows don't quite meet between his eyes. Sam's mouth falls open and he stutters out some garbled mix of “Thank God” and “You answered”. The angel casts him a sideway glance, expression blank, although Sam can sense some annoyance. Time seems to stop whenever Cas is around but he can feel the tension build in the air. He clears his throat but Castiel speaks before he can explain.

“Contrary to what you may think, I always hear you.” Castiel takes a few steps to close the distance between them. Sam is taken aback by this; sure, he may have muttered a few times that he wished Cas were around to help them out of a thick spot, but he didn't realize his words weren't falling on deaf ears. “Both of you,” Cas supplies, and Sam isn't quite sure what to make of that. He shakes his head; he can't dwell on that now.

“Cas, uh...thanks. Dean's gone. I can't--” Sam trails off, scolding himself for being so hasty and panicking and having Cas answer him when surely the angel has more pressing matters at hand. Castiel's eyes narrow a touch and Sam takes the hint. “Look, I know you can't just find us like before, but I'm blind here. We...I don't know what it was, but things got out of control...” Sam runs a hand through his hair, mouth pursing as he reflects on what happened tonight.

Cas is blessedly patient with him. Sam has a right to feel sheepish in front of this divine being; he's basically asking for help in a game of hide and seek. At least, Sam hopes it's that simple. Cas nods to the taller Winchester and Sam can't help but grin and let got of the breath he was holding, “Thanks, I remember--” 

“I've found him.” Cas interrupts and Sam is dumbfounded. Relieved. Unbelievably relieved. All of his emotions began to flood in and his face contorts from anguish to happiness within the span of a second. Sam reaches out to – well, even he doesn't know; to hug Cas or merely thank him with a hand on his arm – but the angel is gone before his hand can reach its target.

Sam blinks. He's alone. Again. But Cas has found Dean and that's more than enough. So he waits.  
______________________________________________________________

Cas sees many things. He sees the expanse of the earth on a linear stretch where the roots of all things spread out like outstretched hands, interlocking in ways unseen by most. He finds Sam Winchester through his voice, sees the color of his tone like seeing in infared light. This vessel is so constricting; tight around his shoulders and back and he wonders how humans can stand to be so comfortable in their skins. 

They do not know any different, the angel reminds himself. Perhaps he can show them one day; show them how he once could see the structure of an ant's exoskeleton mirror the exact alignment of the suns and planets in the Horsehead Nebula. Perfect symmetry. Cas reminds himself that he's thinking in the past tense – he may not get the chance to let them see through his celestial eyes. But he will do what he can.

He searches the entirety of the forest in the time that it takes Sam to pull his muscles into that particular grin Castiel has seen him wear. The younger Winchester confuses him; Sam's smiles (grimaces, rather) usually are reactions to stress or when he is uncomfortable, while the elder brother smiles when he is amused or hiding something – often interchangeably.

It takes a little more effort, also some creativity on Castiel's part, to pinpoint exactly where Dean has ended up. He opts to tell Sam of his success so that he does not worry any more than he is – a perpetual state he seems to be in, Cas has noted. He leaves him where he stands – fetching Dean shouldn't be too much trouble. 

What he finds, he does not expect. It takes him a moment of delving deeper into the enclosed space Dean has been taken (Castiel is certain the Winchester did not venture here willingly), and it gives him pause when Dean shuffles into his view. The human has found his portable flame and yet his mannerisms suggest something is wrong. Castiel sees the way Dean calculates each step carefully before proceeding, sees how he holds the torch haphazardly. Cas frowns.

“Dean.” Castiel forces his voice just barely above a whisper, ducking around a low part in the ceiling and approaching the hunter slowly. He sees Dean before him, and while he looks much the same, Castiel can feel the distress Dean is in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _troubles will come/and they will pass/and don't forget, son/there's someone up above_
> 
> (Song Credit: Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd)


	3. No matter how many deaths that I die/I will never forget.

_Dean doesn't wipe the tears from his face. They've been streaming from his dark eyes for awhile now, and Dean stopped caring awhile after that. The tightening in his chest is threatening to suffocate him and Dean gasps for breath._

_“C'mon, dammit,” he wheezes. He pushes himself another step forward, a sob escaping his stubborn throat. Soon Dean is on his knees, desperate fists beating at the ground, sobs ripping themselves out of his body. Fear and anger are choking him and Dean screams, tearing at his face and hair. This hell cannot be real. He cannot be real._

_His names floats over him, wrapping around his shoulders like a warm blanket. His cries taper off and he breathes heavily, listening for it again. The air in his space changes and Dean raises his head, the darkness in his eyes imprisoning him. Then there are arms around him, gruff whispers of comfort in his ear, and Castiel's scent fills his senses. Tears of relief spill from Dean's eyes and he touches his angel from head to toe, just to confirm that he is really there with him. Dean has never felt so relieved, so Saved; he grasps the angel's face in his hands and kisses his cheeks, eyelids, throat – and ends with a questioning kiss on Castiel's lips._

_“Cas...Cas...” he whispers over and over, sealing each utterance with another kiss._  
___________________________________________________

Dean is a mess. Cas cannot say what trials the hunter has faced, since being separated from his brother, but it has broken him. Castiel intends to fix him.

Even in the dark, Cas can tell Dean has been crying. Cas doesn't know what to make of this; the angel has only seen Dean shed tears for, or relating to, his brother. He wonders if Dean is fearful for Sam, and that is the cause for his grief. He can only hope. Cas means to tell Dean that the younger Winchester is fine, but he doesn't get the chance.

Dean has always been a curious human; Cas would go so far as to say he's fascinating (much to Dean's discomfort, surely). It goes without saying that Dean surprises him more often then not.

This...this he could not have predicted. Not in this lifetime. Not in all his lifetimes.

The first kiss, Castiel suspects was a fluke – Dean is just relieved, beside himself, not fully “here”, as Sam would say. The second, well, Castiel has seen customs like this among humans. The kiss upon his lips...it takes his breath away.

Castiel is rigid, like stone, he does not yield beneath Dean's lips – it doesn't occur to him at all, in fact. His mouth parts to take in air. He nearly chokes on oxygen and it makes his vision blur. In actuality, he has closed his eyes.

“I...D-Dean,” Cas manages to stammer out. It is equal parts a whisper and a cry. His voice is like gravel and rain, and it's shocking how hard it is to restrain himself now. He...he has never felt like this – he wants to consume Dean. It's impossible for him to understand. He has often felt...a sense of longing he couldn't describe with English words, nor is there a phrase in Enochian, for angels are never left wanting. Shakily, he moves his hands from his sides and, with some hesitation, places them on Dean's chest. It serves as a barrier between them and Cas pushes Dean away slowly, as much as he wants the opposite. He wants the human close, but Cas is still mindful of their current predicament.

“Dean,” Castiel swallows thickly and his vessel's heart has somehow traveled into his throat. “Please. Y-your brother is waiting.”

__________________________________________________

_Dean murmurs in protest as Castiel pushes him away. Dean is not usually denied once he wants someone. He rubs his face with his hands, shaking himself back to the present. He's just kissed Castiel. A man. A male vessel? Dean isn't sure what is running through his body. It was just a reaction the stress. Hell, he had been certain he was going to die in his blind prison. He can't be held responsible for how he'd welcomed the angel._

_“Fuck, Cas, took you long enough to get here,” he growls, trying to save whatever face he could._

_Dean hates it when Castiel whisks him away with no warning. Not that any sort of warning would make it less unpleasant. Dean hates the sensation of being physically present, but simultaneously completely nonexistent. He could feel Cas's hand on his should and yet he can almost feel through his hand – can almost feel all of Castiel's atoms vibrating. And as quickly as it happened, it was over. Like it had never happened. Except now they were in the cool, open air and Dean could feel snowflakes falling on his face and neck. He staggers slightly at the abrupt change and Castiel steadies him, hand strong on his elbow._

_And then Sam's arms are around his shoulders and Cas has let go and all Dean can feel is being surrounded by his brother. Sam keeps saying his name and hugging him tighter until Dean finally finds his voice._

_“Jesus, Sammy. Give a man the chance to catch his breath.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when my blood runs warm  
> with the warm red wine  
> i miss the life that i left behind.  
> but when i hear the sound of the  
> blackbirds cry  
> i know i left in the nick of time.
> 
> well this road i'm on's gonna turn to sand  
> and leave me lost in a far off land.  
> so let me ride the wind  
> 'til i don't look back  
> forget the life that i almost had.
> 
> if i wander 'til i die  
> may i know whose hand i'm in.  
> if my home i'll never find  
> and let me live again.
> 
> the longer i run  
> then the less that i find.  
> selling my soul for a nickel and dime  
> breaking my heart  
> to keep singing these rhymes and  
> losing again.
> 
> tell my brother  
> please, not to look for me  
> i ain't the man that i used to be.  
> but if my savior comes  
> could you let him know  
> i've gone away for  
> to save my soul.
> 
> the longer i run  
> i'm losing again  
> losing again.
> 
>  
> 
> (Song Credit: The Longer I Run by Peter Bradley Adams)


	4. Tell me/would you kill to save a life?

Sam wrings his hands, initially to brace against the chill but it's evolved into a nervous tic. It's hours to Sam, holding his breath, counting the snowflakes and kicking at the roots of a tree. He's going crazy with worry – Cas is gone for three minutes tops and it's two minutes and fifty-nine seconds too long.

Then the air around him is alive and electric and Castiel is there looking...Jesus, he looks mortified. But Dean – Dean is right there with him and Sam's already there to meet him.

“Dean...”

He envelops his brother and doesn't know what to say first. His laughter at Dean's remark is breathless and short but it says a lot without actual words. Dean's ok.

Castiel backs away; he watches the brother's curiously, feeling invasive – almost like he's witnessing something very intimate, something he shouldn't be a part of. It's Sam's warm smile – after he's given Dean some breathing room – that keeps him from flying off. Cas does not return the smile and it seems to sober the younger hunter, something about Cas's posture or body language must have tipped him off that he shouldn't be relieved just yet. Sam glances back to his brother a few times before it clicks, and Castiel's chest clenches uncomfortably because Sam's face – Castiel witnesses Sam's heart breaking.

“Dean, I'm sorry, I panicked – yeah, say what you want about that – I just...I called Cas and I'm, ah, just...” Sam rambles, until he makes eye contact with Castiel. Dean had filled him with a familiar warmth, but that was gone now. He doesn't want to look from Cas's face, he doesn't want to deal with this fear, but he can't bear Cas's gaze anymore.

“Dean?” his voice is soft, hesitant. He looks at Dean's face and tries to catch his attention, but his brother's eyes are unfocused, hazy, staring at some distant point that Sam can't see. Carefully, he cups Dean's face in his hands (Castiel flinches, looking away) and tips his head to face him and Sam searches for some explanation, some reason why Dean isn't quite looking at him.

And then he wants to scream and tear the world down with his bare hands.

Castiel feels guilty and he touches his lips as a reminder – he should feel that way. Perhaps Dean had kissed him to try and restore his sight, but Cas was no more able to cure this blindness that Bobby's lame legs. He's useless here. He should go.

“Cas??” Sam pleads again and Cas can only shake his head. Sam falters, looking to Dean, hoping for an answer. “What--?” he catches himself, forces the desperation out of his voice and then continues, “I'll find a way to fix this, ok?”

He leaves off the part “whatever it takes”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> floating here  
> like this with you  
> underneath the stars  
> aligned  
> for thirteen billion years  
> the view  
> it's beautiful  
> and ours alone tonight  
> underneath the stars
> 
> spinning 'round  
> and around with you  
> watching shadows  
> melt the light  
> so shining
> 
> from our eyes  
> a tear  
> another space is ours  
> alone tonight  
> watch as  
> shadows melt
> 
> whisper in my ear, a wish  
> "we could drift away so far"  
> your choice  
> inside my head like this  
> it's infinite  
> the hours alone  
> tonight  
> we could drift away
> 
>  
> 
> (Song Credit: Underneath The Stars by The Cure)


	5. Do you really want/do you really want me?

_Dean can tell when Castiel has departed, even though he can't see it. The cold winter air suddenly seems chillier, and Dean feels like the universe suddenly has a hole in it. He reaches out, hands grasping at the empty air until Sam shifts into his hands and Dean clutches tightly at his jacket. He pulls Sam back into his arms, trying to anchor himself, gulping in mouthfuls of cold air to stop himself from sobbing again._

_“Sam...Sammy...” Dean whispers, his lips brushing against Sam's cheek and neck. His brother's scent fills his senses – spearmint, pine, and soft wool – and Dean is suddenly overwhelmed with emotions. Relief, exhaustion, terror, desire. His world is full of Sam and empty of Cas and Dean feels like he is being consumed with uncertainty. He continues to breath his brother in and murmur his name. Sam's arms tighten around Dean and an involuntary groan escapes his throat._

_Dean tilts his face upwards to meet Sam's kiss. It's gentle at first, hesitant and more comforting that lustful. But as Dean returns the gesture, Sam grows more insistent. His strong arms smash Dean's body against his and Dean can feel Sam's muscles working under his worn jacket. Dean is confused by the urgent arousal burning in his stomach. His adrenaline has been sky high since he gained consciousness and his blindness is driving him into the depths of madness. All he can focus on is Sam's hands grabbing at his shirt buttons and the crisp sting of snowflakes on his now bare chest._

_“Wait...Sam...” Dean pulls away, his breathing heavy and his head spinning. Sam's hands are warm on his skin and he can hear him panting in the winter air._

_“Sorry, Dean. Sorry. I don't know. I was just worried and then Cas found you and something's not right and I don't know what to do.” Sam's words blur into each other in a hurried string, his voice heavy with apology and lust. He sloppily starts buttoning Dean's shirt back up with shaking fingers. Dean places his hands over his brother's, stopping him._

_“I know. I know, Sammy. What I really need is for you to put me in the backseat and keep kissing me until I forget what is going on here.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To breathe the name  
> Of your savior  
> In your hour of need
> 
> x x x x x x x x x x x x 
> 
> i would be the one  
> to hold you down  
> kiss you so hard  
> i'll take your breath  
> away  
> and after i'd wipe away  
> your tears  
> so close your eyes, dear
> 
> (Song Credits: Carnival of Rust by Poets of the Fall; Possession by Sarah McLachlan)


	6. As days go by/the night's on fire.

He's dreaming. This is the pinnacle of his life, all the roads they've been down, all the good times, the bad, everything – it has come to this and Sam would be a liar to deny that he breathed “Finally” when his brother's lips met his for the first time.

It's circumstantial and it's cruel and Sam knows it with every fiber of his being. He's wrong, all wrong – Dean's hurt, hurting, will be hurt again, whether Sam continues or pulls away and this thing between them...it's nothing good. But Dean's insisting and who is Sam to deny this? He's been telling himself “no” or “it's wrong” for...hell...years now. But it's one thing to tell yourself that then be faced with it, asked for it. Sam knows himself, knows his limits, knows the line he walks every day and how easy it is to fall.

He's not sure if he'll be able to piece himself back together after this.

But Sam obliges, gently leading his brother into the back seat of his...their...car – God, of course this is happening here. It's not perfect – Dean's on his back and he's staring up at Sam but he's not seeing him, can't see Sam nearly losing it with his hands on either side of Dean's head so he can prop himself up and really look at his brother, really see him. Dean's so good at hiding what he feels, but his eyes always give him away and now, well, Sam doesn't know. So he takes one of his brother's hands and places it on his cheek, fingers splayed out so Dean can trace the contours of his features. Dean is blinking rapidly like he's fighting back emotions, tears, something, and Sam can't bear the weight of Dean's dead gaze any longer so he dips his head and kisses Dean on his open mouth.

Dean's breath escapes him. Sam feels his brother's hands start to explore him – from clutching fistfuls of Sam's hair to following the major veins in his neck to the expanse of his broad shoulders, down his chest to his navel but then he pauses there. Sam breaks away and Dean murmurs a quiet protest. His brows are furrowed and his eyes are shut tight and Sam supposes it's okay that Dean can't see him now; if there is one thing Dean hates, it's pity, and it takes all of Sam's strength to not weep for him.

“Sam.” 

Dean's voice is carefully controlled, at least he'd like to think it is, but Sam knows better, yet it's hard to pay attention to those things when Dean's hands slide beneath his shirt. Fuck, his hands are freezing because Sam's all hot-blooded, and with every kiss he feels their energy escalating and it's getting to the point where he can hear Dean's heart beat in his head and his blood is pulsing quick and he can nearly taste it. 

Dean's making an effort to peel him down to the skin, so Sam makes quick work of removing their shirts and already this is getting beyond what he's intended, beyond what he had dared let himself imagine. One hand on his back becomes both and Sam leans in, all his considerable weight on Dean's hips and chest, to breathe a hot sigh over his neck.

Heat blossoms in his wake. “Dean,” he says, and Dean moans brokenly, turns his head to kiss Sam and his ragged, beautiful face is flushed bright with heat and uncertainty. Completely overwhelmed.

They've never done this (Sam's too far gone to even question why he's allowing it in the first place), but he can wonder if they'll ever be this close again. Sam will never forget the way Dean's mouth purses, how his brow furrows, the feel of his hands on Sam's arms and neck, or the sound of his breath catching. Sam commits this all to memory – nothing else has compared, will ever compare. This is Sam's true undoing. But he can't say the same for Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i left the only home i knew  
> i stayed alive and i found you  
> now i take you where the  
> water's deep  
> and make the air you breath  
> so sweet.
> 
> but is it not enough  
> to be complete  
> please, let me give you everything  
> you need, please.
> 
> but it can be a lonely place  
> desire comes, desire fades  
> there's a bright one caught in  
> your fancy eye.
> 
> it's okay so long as you  
> stay mine.
> 
> x x x x x x x x x x x x
> 
> from the mountains, to the oceans  
> the places where we live  
> from your mouth and on through  
> my mouth  
> it is everywhere  
> pulsing in the heat  
> of your warm breath.
> 
> in the trains and on the runway  
> in the factories and schools  
> from the safety of your  
> long arms  
> i reach endlessly from here  
> our fingerprints are  
> everywhere.
> 
> you're a brother, i'm a son  
> i almost said i love you.
> 
> a billion tons of light  
> explodes  
> we are illuminated now.
> 
> (Song Credits: Cold Cold Water by Mirah; A Billion Tones of Light by Vega4)


	7. No matter how many lives that I live/I will never regret.

_Dean closes his eyes as tightly as he can until stars explode against his eyelids. His fingers are entangled in Sam’s hair, his face is pressed against Sam’s neck, and all he know is his brother. It was this, this comfort of intimacy, that he has been searching for his whole life. Dean is by no means a virgin, but he has never known actual intimacy — allowing himself to be emotionally vulnerable while being physical with someone. So it is appropriate that it is happening with Sam. Sammy. Sweet, earnest Sammy, who has seen Dean to Hell and back. Sammy, who has stitched him back together and tucked him in when he has drank too much. Sammy, who he has laughed with, yelled at, and cried for. And now it is Sammy who is slowly undoing him until all he is is lust and pain and desire and terror and love._

_Dean’s fingers shake as he moves his hands across Sam’s skin. He wants Sam to take him apart and see the man underneath. Dean’s hips buck up as Sam hesitantly undoes his belt buckle. He whispers Sam’s name while his blood screams for him. Dean has never been so hard and ready for relief. Everything about Sam’s tight body and rough hands and heavy breathing is a mystery that Dean’s body wants to solve._

_“Shit, Sammy!” Dean exclaims as his brother’s hand roughly grabs his cock. Sam loosens his grip and Dean quivers under his touch. He can’t help but grin at Sam’s clumsy eagerness and low moans vibrate in Dean’s throat as Sam clumsily explores him._

_“Sam…Sammy…Sammy…” Dean pants as the younger Winchester pumps him faster. His hands grasp blindly at his brother’s shoulders, nails digging into skin. Behind his tightly closed eyes, Dean sees flashes of color as he nears his climax. Worn red plaid like Sam’s favorite shirt; crystal blue like Cas’s eyes. Tears stream down Dean’s face and a strangled sob escapes him as he cums._

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sam knows that no one has seen Dean like this. His thoughts are disconnected, swimming somewhere in hindsight, and Sam’s never been this vulnerable either. Not with Jess, not with Ruby. And Sam is fucking terrified by it.

His fingers are clamped down on the leather behind Dean’s head, and they shake and strain to keep him suspended above his brother; he doesn’t quite know why he’s holding on so hard. He’d bit Dean on the shoulder before his brother had climaxed. Words are mouthed, warm and silent, against the bruise. _Thought I’d lost you. I’m sorry._ It’s all nonsensical. Time has stopped. He doesn’t know how long they lie like this, Dean’s chest heaving, skin flushed and alive. Sam is shaking violently as he tries to keep it together.

He can only bring himself to look at Dean because he knows he won’t be seen. Sam notices the tears on Dean’s cheeks; he’s okay to live with them for awhile before kissing them away.

And then he pulls away. And it’s Dean.

_Dean._

He inhales sharply, the reality of his actions crashing into him like a truck and setting his blood aflame. He’s painfully hard in his jeans, but his brain has tipped back into reality and he’s not longer possessed by the urge to rut against Dean until he’s raw; make it hurt for himself, make it punishment. His throat constricts and his breath is coming in short bursts, and he’s losing control real quick. He can’t quite get a handle on this breed of breakdown.

He…he just…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as i lie against your body  
> that will one day let you down  
> from the safety of this moment  
> i reach endlessly  
> from here  
> i reach endlessly  
> endlessly
> 
> x x x x x x x x x x x x
> 
> what a wicked game to play  
> to make me feel this way
> 
> x x x x x x x x x x x x
> 
> one night to be confused  
> one night to speed up truth  
> we had a promise made  
> four hands and then away  
> both under influence  
> we had divine scent  
> to know what to say  
> mind is a razor blade
> 
> to call for hands from above  
> to lean on  
> would that be good enough  
> for me?
> 
> one night of magic rush  
> the start  
> a simple touch  
> one night to push and scream  
> and then relief  
> ten days of perfect tunes  
> the colors red and blue  
> we had a promise made  
> we were in love
> 
> and you  
> you knew the hand of the devil  
> and you  
> kept us awake with wolves teeth  
> sharing different heart beats  
> in one night
> 
> to call for hand from above  
> to lean on  
> would that be good enough  
> for me now?
> 
> (song credits: A Billion Tones of Light by Vega4; Wicked Games by Chris Isaak; Heartbeats by Jose Gonzalez)


End file.
